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Updated: June 12, 2025
Mollett senior was not absolutely a drunkard; but nevertheless, he was not averse to spirits in cold weather, and on this journey had warmed himself with whiskey once or twice on the road.
"That will be rather hard," said he, "considering that I do not know any more than the man in the moon what you've come about." "You shall be the sole judge yourself, sir, of the importance of my business with you," said Mr. Prendergast. "Well, Mr. I forget your name," said Owen. "My name's Mollett," said Aby. Whereupon Mr. Prendergast looked up at him very sharply, but he said nothing.
"Well, Tom, my lad of wax; and how's the world using you?" said Mr. Mollett senior. "There ain't much difference, then," said Tom; "I ain't no younger, nor yet no richer than when yer honour left us and what is't to be, sir? a pint of stout, sir?" As soon as Mr.
Poor Matthew Mollett had suffered dire misfortune, had encountered very hard lines, betwixt that day on which he stole away from the Kanturk Hotel in South Main Street, Cork, and that other day on which he presented himself, cold and hungry and almost sick to death, at the door of his wife's house in Spinny Lane, St. Botolph's in the East.
Mollett senior had not professed himself as absolutely agreeing with them, he had nevertheless owned that he was imbued with the necessity of taking some great step. He had gone down to take this great step, and Aby was very anxious to know how it had been taken.
The Molletts, father and son, were rather more than ordinary good customers at the Kanturk Hotel, and it was politic therefore to treat them well. Mr. Mollett junior, moreover, was almost more than a customer; and for the sake of the son Fanny was anxious that the father should be well treated.
His present intention was to drive up to the front door, and ask at once for Sir Thomas Fitzgerald, sending in his card if need be, on which were printed the words: MR. ABRAHAM MOLLETT, Junior. With the additional words, "Piccadilly, London," written in the left-hand lower corner. "I'll take the bull by the horns," said he to himself.
But in addition to this Aby was selfish and cruel and insolent, and seldom altogether good tempered. He was bad to his father, and bad to those below him whom he employed. Old Mollett would give away his sixpences with a fairly liberal hand, unless when he was exasperated by drink and fatigue. But Aby seldom gave away a penny.
"I've got what'll take me there, my boy, whether you know it or not. And Sir Thomas'll be ready enough to send me a remittance when I'm once out of this country." And so Aby had given way, partly perhaps in terror of Mr. Somers' countenance; and Matthew Mollett started again in a covered car on that cold journey over the Boggeragh mountains.
"Consideration be bothered," said Mollett, junior; "strike when the iron's hot, that's my motto." The father here turned half round to his son and winked at him, nodding his head slightly towards the girl, thereby giving token that, according to his ideas, the conversation could not be discreetly carried on before a third person.
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